


A Taste Of Freedom

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Desk Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rumbelle Order In The Court, Serial Killers, Smut, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: When the Mayor’s sister is brutally killed, Belle French finds herself defence attorney to the alleged murderer.  But is Colonel Ives the monster that the press makes him out to be?  And is he as innocent as he claims?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after a kidnapping and murder.  I won’t be covering any of those events in detail, but Belle will be talking to her client about what happened, and so the discussion that the characters have will include mentions of the following: date rape, drugging, sexual assault, restraints, choking/strangulation, blood, cannibalism and serial killing. Hence the tags.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, the clink of keys a light, cheerful sound as Belle French followed the broad-shouldered figure of Correctional Officer Keith Nott to the interview room where her client awaited.

“You should be conducting this interview by telephone,” he said over his shoulder.  “Little girl like you.  This is the most dangerous guy we’ve ever had in here.  You know he eats his victims?”

“Allegedly,” said Belle coldly.  “May I remind you that nothing has yet been proven against my client?”

Nott snorted.  “Look, sweet thing, if I had a dime for every time I’d heard these guys claim that they’re innocent, I’d have retired years ago!  He was caught in her apartment with the body on the floor and her blood in his mouth.  Open and shut case.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t on the jury, isn’t it?” she said, her tone sarcastic.  “Please keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbled, and drew to a halt outside a door.  He unlocked it, holding it open for her, and Belle heard him mutter “uptight bitch” as she entered.  She glared over her shoulder at him.

“And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘sweet thing’,” she added sharply.  "I’m a defence attorney, not a dessert.  And certainly not for your consumption.”

“Well, well.”  A low, quiet voice, the burr of a Scottish accent in it, rolled over Belle.  “It appears I chose well.  She has teeth.”

“Takes one to know one,” muttered Nott.

Belle glared at him again, but he was locking the door and didn’t notice, so she turned her attention to her latest client.  He was wearing the standard prison-issue orange jumpsuit, and was seated behind a desk with his hands clasped in his lap, his wrists manacled together.  His hair was longer than was usual, brown and shining, falling around his face, and he had a narrow, neatly-trimmed beard and moustache.  It was a little old-fashioned, she supposed, but it suited his face, with its high cheekbones and slightly long nose.  He was watching her with dark eyes, the light of amusement in them, and Belle felt her breath catch.  She tried to always keep an open mind about her clients, but this case had been particularly grisly, and she hoped that it wouldn’t be too hard to retain her objectivity.  He was a small man, barely five feet eight, she imagined, but he nonetheless had a presence, an aura, something powerful and electric that made the air hum and spark.

“Colonel Ives,” she said, telling herself to get a grip.  “My name’s Belle French, I’m your new defence counsel.”

Ives’s mouth curved upwards, his eyes glinting a little.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss French,” he said quietly.  “I’d shake your hand, but - well...”  He lifted his manacled hands, and Belle turned to Nott.

“Is that really necessary?” she asked coldly, and he shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

“Just following orders.  It’s for your protection.”

“It’s hardly in his interests to harm the woman who’s looking to get him released, now is it?” she pointed out.

“Worry not, Miss French,” said Ives quietly.  “I’ve experienced worse than this, I assure you.  Let’s not upset Officer Nott’s equilibrium.”

Sighing to herself, Belle sat down in the chair opposite, opening up the leather case in which she carried her papers.

“You fired your last attorney,” she observed, and Ives pulled a face.

“The man was an idiot,” he said.  “Interested only in what was easy, not what was right.  He tried to convince me to plead insanity.”

“I’m sure he was just giving you all your options,” said Belle diplomatically.

“He seemed to think that as the alleged ‘victim’ in this case was related to the Mayor, I didn’t stand a chance,” he said dryly.  “I fail to see what her connections to the Town Hall have to do with anything.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that blood ties influenced the outcome in a legal case, I’m sorry to say,” said Belle, rolling her eyes.  “That aside, the evidence against you is - compelling, and the press wants your blood.”

Ives met her gaze, dark eyes gleaming.  It made her shiver.

“Does this mean you think I’m guilty?” he asked quietly, and she shook her head.

“You’ve pleaded not guilty,” she said.  “I understand you want to argue self-defence.  It’s my job to believe that plea, and to construct a case accordingly, to the best of my abilities.  Hence the reason for this meeting, Colonel Ives.  I need you to tell me everything you can about the night in question.”

Ives reached for the water jug, the manacles making his movements a little clumsy, and Belle hurriedly picked it up and poured him a glass.  He nodded his thanks and took a slow sip, the tip of his tongue running across his lips as he did so.

“I’d prefer to discuss this in private,” he said, and Belle looked over her shoulder at Nott, who was seated behind her with his arms folded across his chest.

“Would you leave us, please?” she asked, and Nott scowled.

“The man’s a killer,” he said bluntly.  “You’re an idiot if you think otherwise, babe.  Your pretty face won’t save you if he turns, you know.”

“Your ability to read the passions and motivations of your fellow men is matched only by your respect for women,” said Ives dryly.  “I assure you that Miss French has nothing to fear from me.”

Nott gave Belle a flat look, then shrugged.

“Don’t matter to me,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.  “Scream if he attacks you.  Maybe I’ll be around to save your ass.”

“You can wait outside the door,” said Belle firmly.  “I’ll knock when I’m ready to come out.”

Ives grinned, and Nott’s scowl deepened.  He slammed the door after him, and Belle turned back to Ives.

“So,” she prompted.  “That night?”

Ives nodded, taking another sip of water.  A droplet splashed on his lower lip, and he licked it off, leaving his mouth glistening.

“I can only tell you what I remember,” he said finally.  “I think I was drugged.  I remember speaking to - well, she called herself Regina, I only found out that her name was Zelena Green when I was charged - I remember speaking to her at the bar of _The Rabbit Hole_.”

“Why were you at the bar?”

“I had arrived in town that day,” he said.  “I was visiting the grave of an old friend.  It was the anniversary of his death, and I’d missed the funeral itself.  i wanted to pay my respects.”

“What was his name?”

“Neal Cassidy.”

Belle looked up, tapping her pen on her papers.

“I remember hearing about him,” she said slowly.  “It was - it was a brutal case, wasn’t it?  He was murdered, left in the woods to die.  They never found his killer.”

Ives’s mouth twitched.  “Indeed they did not.  We were close friends.  Almost like family.”

“And yet you didn’t go to his funeral?”

“I was out of the country at the time.  By the time I returned he was already deep in the earth.”  His mouth twisted a little.  “I blame myself.  Perhaps if I’d been here, it would never have happened.”

Belle gave him a sympathetic look, and he shrugged, as if to say there was nothing that could be done.

“So let’s go back to the bar, and your conversation with Miss Green,” she said.  “What time did you get there?”

“Around seven, I think.”

“What time did you first speak to her?”

“Oh, an hour or so later, I suspect.  I can’t be more accurate than that.”

“Who initiated contact?” asked Belle, making notes.

“I had a table in the corner,” he said.  “She came and sat down next to me, with a champagne bottle in an ice bucket, and two glasses.”

“Describe the location to me.”

“It was dark,” he admitted.  “There was enough light to see her features, enough that I would recognise her if I knew her, but that corner is shadowed, and the club itself is dimly-lit.  I could see the end of the bar, and the pool tables.  I had been watching two men play pool.”

“And what did you discuss?”

“She said she was celebrating,” said Ives, resting his forearms on the table.  “She had been offered a new job, and she had ordered some champagne to mark the occasion.  She offered me a drink, which I accepted.”

“She poured the drink?” asked Belle, and he nodded.  “You accepted a drink poured by a woman you didn’t know?”

Ives showed his teeth.  “Well, I realise it was foolish _now_ …”

Belle nodded.  “What else had you been drinking?”

“Whisky,” he said.  “Neat.  I think I’d had three.”

“Is that usual for you?”

“I’d probably have had another two, then called it a night.”

“How did she seem?”

Ives rubbed a finger over his upper lip, the dark hairs of his moustache catching the light.  A thought came to Belle, unbidden, of what it might feel like against her skin, and her eyes widened in shock.  She hurriedly looked at her notes again, waiting for his response.

“I don’t think she’d drunk anything at that point,” he mused.  “She seemed excited.  I presumed it was the job offer.  She said it was for a firm of architects, I think.  Double the salary she was currently earning.”

“What else did you discuss?”

“We talked a little about the bar and the lack of other drinking establishments in town,” said Ives.  “I drank the champagne.  After that it’s all a blur.”

“Did she drink?” asked Belle, and he frowned, thinking.

“Yes.  She finished her glass too, and poured us both another.  That’s the last thing I remember clearly.  The next thing - well, I was naked in a room, cuffed to a bed, and she was there.”

Belle put down her pen, sitting back a little.

“Colonel Ives, you know that there has been a series of murders and disappearances in the local area in the past couple of years,” she said.  “Beginning with Neal Cassidy and ending with the most recent, a man called Killian Jones.  The police suspect a serial killer.”

“I’m aware of this area’s history,” he said gravely, and she nodded.

“I expect the police will want to pin those murders on you, if you get found guilty in this case,” she said.  “It would clear things up nicely for them.”

“They haven’t found bodies in all these cases, though, correct?” he said.  “Some are simply missing.  Not so much as a bone to bury.”

Belle leaned on the desk, meeting his eyes.  Being this close to him was a little unnerving.  There was an energy to the man, despite his short stature.  A strange, heavy electricity coursing through the air and running over her skin, raising goosebumps.  He was threading his long fingers together, sliding them in and out with a faint whisper of skin on skin.  It was almost arousing, and she licked her lips, noticing his eyes drop to her mouth.

“You were found in Miss Green’s apartment with her blood in your mouth and her body on the floor,” she said.  “You were both naked, and there was evidence of sexual activity.”

“Non-consensual on my part, I assure you,” he remarked.

“There was a rope around your neck,” Belle went on.  “And evidence of strangulation.  The prosecution may suggest that it was a sex game that got out of hand.”

Ives smiled slowly.

“Being tied to a bed and forcibly choked is not my idea of a good time,” he said, his voice a low rasp.  “I’m a little more - traditional - in my tastes, Miss French.  The warmth of a woman’s body responding to a gentle caress.  The taste of her pleasure on my tongue.  The feel of her beneath me.”

His eyes lingered, and Belle felt a tug of desire, her mouth suddenly dry.  She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a little.

“Another - another suggestion,” she went on, feeling flustered, “may be that you went out that evening fully intending to kill someone for your own sexual pleasure, that Miss Green put up a fight which was reported to the police by her neighbours, and that you heard the police coming and cuffed yourself to the bed to appear the victim.”

Ives spread his fingers with a smile, manacles clinking.

“Well, it’s your job to put my case, is it not?” he said lazily.  “Miss Green tried to kill me.  She knew exactly what she was doing.  I suspect she’s done it many times before.  My killing her was a desperate act of self-defence.”

“Talk me through what happened,” said Belle.

Ives looked at her for a long moment, and she swallowed, her heart thumping.  This man was dangerous, she knew that.  Deadly, perhaps.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t the victim in this case.  He took another drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his finger.

“When I awoke I was cuffed to the bed,” he said softly.  “There was a rope around my neck.  She had straddled me, and was choking me.  She got off on it, I could see the excitement in her eyes.”

He leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on hers, and Belle held her position, her breath quickening a little.

“I knew then that she was a killer,” he said, and he was running a fingertip around the rim of his water glass, a high-pitched whine coming from it.  “There was something in her aura, something - dark and frenzied.”

His eyes stared into her soul, deep and warm, but with a tiny flicker deep within, a gleam of gold, a hint of something more.

“I knew then that only one of us would leave that place alive,” he said quietly.  “And so I waited.  I let her do what she wanted, until she was distracted.  Until she let her head drop enough that I could reach her.  And then I lunged at her, and tore out her throat with my teeth.”

Belle felt her breath catch, and licked her lips nervously.  Her mind had already formed a picture of the scene he described, but it kept skittering to another.  A scene that she had constructed on her own.  The image of him naked, and not cuffed or chained, but free.  Gazing down at her as he moved, his hair hanging in her face as he slid inside her.  She could feel herself blushing, and tried to shove the thoughts aside.  This was _not_ appropriate!  Ives looked faintly amused, as though he knew what she was thinking, and that only made her blush harder.

“Are you well, Miss French?” he asked quietly.  “You seem a little - heated.  I realise the details of this case may be somewhat distressing...”

“I’m fine,” she said hurriedly.  “Tell me what happened next.”

“I managed to get one wrist free before the police arrived,” he added, intensity in his gaze.  “I told them my story, just as I’ve told you, but it appears they didn’t believe me.”

“They - um…”  Belle closed her eyes for a moment, breaking the spell between them.  “They say you - chewed on her.”

Ives sat back, shrugging.

“Well, I’m not a wolf,” he said dryly.  “I don’t have the means to tear out a throat with a single bite.  I had to hang on for awhile.  So yes, Miss French, I _chewed_.  I chewed through her flesh until I knew she was dead.  It was - a bloody business.  I can still taste the witch.”

“Yes.”  She made a few more notes, trying to stop her hands from shaking.  “Is there anything else?”

Ives stroked a finger over his upper lip again.  He had elegant hands, and she wondered how it would feel to have him touch her.

“As I said, I believe she’s done it before,” he said.  “I heard that a reporter named Sidney Glass was investigating a potential cover-up by the Mayor’s family, but I’ve heard nothing from Mr Glass himself.”

“I can look into it,” Belle assure him.  “Well.  I think I’ve got everything I need for now, Colonel Ives.  I think we have a good chance at making a case for self-defence.  Particularly if what you say about Mr Glass bears fruit.”

“Thank you, Miss French,” said Ives softly, a tiny smile curving his mouth.  “I have every faith in your abilities.”

“I’ll do my best,” she assured him, and his smile widened.

“That’s all anyone can ask.”

* * *

In the end it was easier than Belle thought.  Her first victory came when she discovered that Sidney Glass, far from building a case against the Mayor’s family, was gathering any such evidence in order to destroy it.  A chunk of Zelena Green’s medical records had been suppressed.  Evidence that her family had tried to get her psychiatric help which she had refused.  Evidence of sadistic tendencies.  The investigation into who had actually instructed Glass and held back the information was still ongoing, but there were enough indications of collusion between the Mayor’s family and law enforcement to get the prosecution case thrown out.

Regina Swan-Mills, Miss Green’s sister, had shouted from the public gallery that it wasn’t over, and had had to be led away by her wife, tears streaming down her face.  Belle could take a moment to feel some sympathy with her over the loss of a sister in such a terrible way, but the attempts by her family to cover up Zelena’s psychotic behaviour were inexcusable.

After the judge’s verdict, Belle stood on the steps of the court, her head up and chin raised.  She gave an indignant statement to the press about her client’s innocence and that corruption had to be uncovered and stamped out if there was to be justice for all, and the journalists almost fell over themselves to try to grab an exclusive interview with Ives about his ordeal.  Of course they wanted the salacious details of what exactly Miss Green had done to him perhaps more than they wanted tales of corrupt lawyers and law enforcement officials, and Belle declined all requests, informing them that her client would make his own decisions in that area.

Ives had taken the news with a slow nod of his head and a pursing of his lips, as though he had expected it all along, but he had thanked Belle quietly, and told her he was grateful for her belief in him, and her determination to fight for what was right.  She had not seen him since the judge had told him he was free to go, and she herself had gone back to her office, weary from the days of preparation and the stress of the trial itself.

* * *

 

She began her usual process of clearing up at the end of a case, collecting up the files that had been prepared and putting them in boxes for storage.  It was late, past nine, and the other lawyers at the firm had long since gone.  Her secretary Ariel had left her a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, a present from one of the partners to celebrate a high-profile victory, and she was debating opening the thing and drinking it by herself.  It would be nice to get pleasingly drunk in the safety of her office, thinking about the strange man who had just been set free.  Thinking about how he had made her feel when he was staring into her eyes.  How she had lain in the dark of the night, wondering how it would feel to have him run his tongue over every inch of her skin.

Belle shook her head, dropping some files into a box with a loud thump to snap herself out of it.  It was unlikely that she would ever see him again, after all.  She opened up one of the files of additional material that had been collected, flicking through it to remind herself of what was in there.  The pages fell open at a photograph of two men; Ives was one of them, the other somewhat taller and younger, his arm thrown casually around Ives’s shoulders.  The man was dark-haired and handsome, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed at the camera.  Neal Cassidy.  The photograph had been taken perhaps four years ago, and Belle wondered what had happened to him.  How he had met his end.  She supposed she would never know; the case had been declared cold some time ago.  There was a resemblance between he and Ives.  Something around the eyes.  She stared in curiosity, and a tap at the door made her jump.

Belle closed the file, staring at the door, and a shadowed shape behind it.  Her heart began to thump in trepidation.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice wobbling a little.

“Miss French, please don’t be alarmed, it’s only me.”

Ives sounded calm, soothing, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

“It’s open,” she said, and the handle turned, the door opening as he entered.

Ives had changed his clothes, she observed.  He was wearing a black waistcoat and pants, with a cream shirt and a thin charcoal-grey tie.  He closed the door behind him, his thumb fiddling with the rosary wrapped around his right hand, and Belle slipped the file she had been holding into one of the boxes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.  “I thought you’d be celebrating, or at least giving interviews.”

Ives straightened the cuffs of his shirt, smiling slightly.

“Oh, there were a number of news organisations that had previously called for my head, all waiting to talk to me about what they now call the gross injustice I suffered,” he said.  “It was all rather tedious.”

“Yes.”  Belle picked up some files from her desk, straightening the pile in her arms.  “I can imagine.”

He took a step closer.

“I decided that rather than complain about the way the system has treated me these past months,” he added.  “I’d prefer to come and thank the woman who is responsible for my freedom.”

Belle turned away, opening a drawer of the filing cabinet and putting the files back in place.  His proximity was making the air hum, as though her hair wanted to stand on end, and it made her skin feel hot and tight.

“Well, the evidence was on your side,” she said.  “Even if the press wasn’t.”

“So it would seem.”

She had her back to him, but she could feel his presence, heavy and all-consuming, flowing out and wrapping around her, caressing her with soft fingers of darkness.  It made her shiver with a mixture of desire and apprehension, and she told herself not to be so ridiculous.

“What will you do now?” she asked, unnerved at the tremor in her voice.

“Now I will go back to Neal’s grave, and tell him that his death is avenged,” he said calmly.

Belle pushed shut the drawer of the filing cabinet, and turned slowly on the balls of her feet to face him.  Ives regarded her solemnly, his hands clasped in front of him.  Her heart thumped hard in her chest, and she shook her head.

“You think - you think _Zelena_ killed your friend?” she whispered, and he smiled, a brief quirk of his lips.

“Oh, I know she did,” he said quietly.  “We discussed his disappearance in the bar, and I told her that I considered him family.  That his death had devastated me.”

“You - you didn’t tell me that,” she said, and he smiled briefly.

“Later,” he went on, “when she was taking her pleasure with me, she told me she killed him.  And many others.  That I would be only the latest in a _long_ line.”  His eyes closed for a moment, his jaw tightening.  “She - enjoyed telling me exactly what she did to him.  To all of them.”

Belle shook her head wordlessly, and he took a step forward.

“I must apologise,” he whispered.  “I wasn’t entirely straight with you, Miss French.  I did come to town to visit Neal’s grave, but my main purpose was to confront his killer.  And to avenge his death.”

“But…”  Belle shook her head.  “You - you _knew_ it was her?  Before?”

Ives shrugged.  “I wasn’t in that bar by accident, I assure you.  I’d been watching her for some time.  Gathering evidence.  Evidence that, in my naivete, I passed to Mr Glass.”

“Which he then buried,” she said heavily.  “I see.”

“Perhaps my self-defence plea might have been taken more seriously if that evidence had been released to the police,” he added.  “I hadn’t intended for them to get involved, but here we are.”

“So - you were - what?” she said.  “Bait?”

“I suppose I was, yes.”  His smile widened.  “Apparently she couldn’t resist.”

Belle stared at him, and he watched her, that tiny smile still on his face.  His eyes were weary, but there was a calmness to him.  The look of a man who had accomplished something important.  The look of a man ready to move on.

“You couldn’t have known,” she whispered.  “What the drugs in the wine would do to you, whether you would be able to stop her.  You couldn’t have known.”

He looked amused at that, his eyebrows jumping as he grinned.

“I have a strong constitution, Miss French,” he said dryly.  “Stronger than most.  She was surprised that I woke as soon as I did, believe me.”

“But why take the risk?” she asked.  “Why not take your evidence straight to the police?”

Ives chuckled hollowly, his eyes glinting.

“Given what you now know about this woman’s family, I’m surprised you would ask that question.  Hence my contacting Mr Glass.”

Belle supposed he had a point there.  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the tick of the clock on the wall behind him, and the throb of her pulse in her throat.  She licked her lips, and his eyes followed the tip of her tongue before darting back up to meet hers.  That low-down pull in her belly came again, and she pressed her thighs together.

“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered, and he smiled again.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said.  “You fought for me, you had my back.  You deserved to know the truth.”

“But she still tried to kill you,” said Belle insistently.  “She was still a murderer, and you could have died.  It was still self-defence, you didn’t lie about that.”

“It was self-defence to a degree,” he agreed.  “But I put myself in that situation.  I fully intended to kill her from the moment I met her, for what she did to Neal.  I needed you to know that, Belle.”

He spoke her name with reverence, like a charm he released with a flick of his tongue, and she caught her lower lip with her teeth.

“Why?” she breathed.  “Why does it matter to you?”

He took a step closer, and she could almost _feel_ the heat from him, her heart thudding in her chest, her breath quickening.

“Because there’s something about you that makes me want to tell you everything,” he said softly.  “All my darkest secrets.  Every desire.  To pull every hidden longing from my soul and lay them before you.”

She swallowed hard, sparks seeming to jump and dance in the air between them.  Her mind shouted that he was dangerous, that he was a killer, but somehow she knew without question that he wouldn’t harm her.  He had killed the woman who had murdered his friend, and who had tried to kill him.  Even so, a sensible woman would take a step back, and tell him to return during office hours.  A sensible woman wouldn’t long for him to touch her, to lay her down and kiss every inch of her.  A sensible woman would tell him no.

“I want to tell you everything I’ve done, Belle,” he said, his voice a low whisper in the air.  “And everything I want to do to you.”

Belle felt her breath catch, and stepped forwards until they were almost touching, inhaling deeply to pull his scent into her lungs.

“Tell me now,” she whispered, and he reached up to cup her cheek, making her shiver at his touch, his palm warm on her skin.

“I want you,” he breathed.  “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.  I want to kiss that soft mouth of yours and slip my tongue inside you.”

Belle moaned, her eyes sliding shut, and his thumb brushed over her lip as he bent closer, his breath cool on her face.

“I want to unbutton that little shirt of yours and bare all your beautiful pale skin,” he rasped.  “I want to lay you down on this desk and taste how sweet you are, to feel inside you, to slide in deep and fuck you until you _scream_!”

“Yes!” she whispered.

She opened her eyes, her chest heaving, her abdomen taut with need, with desire.  He was staring at her, dark eyes boring through her, and she reached up to touch his cheek, her fingers pushing through his hair.  His mouth came down on hers, and she moaned as his tongue pushed inside.  He tasted a little of tobacco, and the sweet, heady fire of whisky, and she pressed herself against him, letting her tongue explore his mouth.  Kissing a former client was never a good idea, in her book, but _God_ , she wanted him!  There was something pulling her to him, something that had been growing and feeding on her desire since the moment they had met.

Ives pushed her back against the desk, reaching behind her to sweep aside papers and files and a box of pencils that clattered and spilled on the floor.  He dropped his hands, cupping her rear and lifting her up until she was sitting on the edge of the desk, with him pressed up between her legs.  She could feel him pushing against her, hard and rigid, and her belly crawled with want, her hands tugging him closer as they kissed.  His fingers stroked up to cup her breasts, and she moaned into his mouth as he squeezed.  He pulled his mouth free then, kissing down her neck, his teeth gently teasing her skin, and Belle gasped at the feel of him, his fingers starting to pluck open the buttons of her shirt.  He got it open, sliding it from her shoulders and down her arms, fingertips stroking over her skin and making her shiver.

His mouth was pulling at the skin of her throat, his tongue swirling over her pulse, and Belle let her head roll back as he slipped his thumbs beneath the shoulder straps of her bra, pushing them down.  He pulled them lower, the lace cups sliding over her breasts, exposing them, and his hands slipped around to unhook the bra and let it fall.  Belle moaned as he let his lips trail down over her chest, the moan becoming a cry as his mouth fastened over her nipple, sucking it in between his teeth, scraping against the firm nub.  Her fingers stroked through his hair as he sucked at her, his thumb rubbing over her other nipple, and then he licked across to take that one in his mouth, leaving the other red and taut, shining with his saliva.

Belle let out a low moan of pleasure as he sucked at her, and he groaned against her skin, his breath hot.  She wanted more of him, all of him, and she tugged him upwards to kiss her again, her hands tugging at his tie and pulling it open.  Ives shrugged out of his waistcoat, letting it hit the floor with her shirt, and ripped the tie from around his throat, plucking open the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers.

Belle pulled back, licking her lips as his chest was revealed, thin and hard with the dusky circles of his nipples, their points standing out from the rest of his skin.  She bent her head to suck at one, tasting salt on his skin, and Ives groaned, his hands sinking into her dark curls as she suckled at him.  She could feel the groan vibrating through his body, a low rumbling that made her desire for him surge, and she teased the nipple with her teeth, biting gently and making him growl.  She pushed her hands under the shirt, his skin smooth and hot to the touch, and Ives shrugged off the shirt, dragging it down his arms and hurling it to the floor.

He grabbed her upper arms, pulling her to him and capturing her mouth with his in a hungry, grasping press of lips and a swirl of his tongue.  Belle let out a hum of pleasure into his mouth, the coarse hair of his beard scraping against the tender skin of her lips.  She tightened her legs around his hips and he ground against her, spreading the wetness that was already between her thighs, and Belle moaned again, wishing he would touch her properly, wishing he was inside her.  Ives seemed to sense her need, letting his hands slide around to unzip her skirt and stepping back to tug it from her, leaving her in shoes and the white lace thong she wore.  A hand pushed beneath the waistband, sliding against tender skin made slippery with her desire, and he let out a growl of pleasure at the feel of her.  He pulled his mouth from hers, kissing along her jaw to her ear, his tongue stroking against the skin of her neck.

“God, you’re wet, Belle!” he whispered.  “I think you’re ready.  Let me taste you.  I want to get my tongue inside you.”

“Yes!” she gasped.

He pushed her back on the desk, sliding the panties down her legs and off at her feet, slipping the shoes off as he did so.  Belle lay on the cool, polished wood, her chest heaving, and he put his hands on her knees, pushing them apart as he bent his head to kiss the soft white skin of her inner thighs.  She was almost panting, her excitement building, and she arched up off the desk with a cry as his tongue swept through the petals of soft flesh between her legs, his low groan of pleasure making her belly tighten and pull.  He licked her slowly, teasing and tasting, exploring every inch of her, sweeping her fluids into his mouth.  His hair rubbed against her, the friction a sensual pleasure all its own, and she scraped her fingernails across his scalp, the soft strands of his hair slipping between her fingers.

She felt his finger then, pushing at her entrance, sliding inside her, and she groaned as he sank into her up to the knuckle, his tongue still swirling and stroking against her.  She had lifted her knees, and Ives pushed them higher, letting her drape her legs over his shoulders, pushing against her with his mouth, driving her up towards climax.  Belle let an arm fall over her eyes, gasping for breath, her cheeks flushing, her heels sliding along his naked back.  He pushed another finger inside her, stretching her, rubbing against her, and his tongue teased her clit, the tip running in circles around it, every sensation building within her.  She held her breath, listening to her pulse throbbing in her head, and he quickened his pace, rubbing and teasing and sliding until she came with a loud cry, her back arching, her thighs clamping around his head.

Ives drew out his fingers, licking them clean and pushing his tongue up inside her with a low rumble of pleasure.  Belle tried to catch her breath, her body still twitching, and he pressed a kiss to her and pushed himself up, her heels sliding up his back to rest on his shoulders as he straightened, her ankles by his ears.  She met his gaze, her breath heavy in her chest, and licked her lips at the look in his eyes, almost black with desire for her.  Ives wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, drawing his tongue along the length of his fingers, and then reached down between them to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants.

“You taste incredible,” he rasped.  “And you _feel_ amazing!  I need to get inside you, Belle.  I need to come deep inside you!”

Belle tried to speak, but the words seemed to stick in her throat, and she could only nod as he let the first two fingers of his right hand slide inside her once more, the beads of the rosary rubbing against her.  She moaned, letting her head push back against the hard surface of the desk, the scent of beeswax polish drifting into her nose.  He pushed deep, her passage slippery with arousal, and let the pad of his thumb rub across her swollen clit.  Belle arched her back again, pushing her breasts high, and she heard the rustle of clothing as he pushed down his pants and underwear.  She felt him then, the smooth head of his cock sliding through her folds, hot and hard, and she wanted him with an urgency that almost hurt.  She raised her head a little to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and Ives kissed the inside of her right calf, his moustache tickling her skin as he continued to rub his cock slowly against her wet flesh.

“Do you want me, Belle?” he whispered.  “Tell me.  Tell me what you want?”

“Yes, I want you!” she breathed.  “I want you inside me!”

He slipped his fingers from her, his cock pressing against her entrance, and slowly pushed inside her with a low groan of satisfaction, sinking deep until the soft skin of his balls brushed against her.  He was snug within her, his cock thick and rigid, and she sighed with pleasure at the feel of it, at the sensation of being filled by him.  Her toes curled in his hair as he gripped her hips, and he began to thrust, sliding slowly out almost all the way before sinking back in.  One hand reached around her thigh, dipping into the cleft between her legs where their bodies joined, his fingers delicately flickering over her clit, rubbing and circling and making her moan.

She was already close, still sensitive from her earlier orgasm, and it was so _good_ to feel him deep inside her, to feel the way he was rubbing against her.  Her head was tipped back, the musty scent of old papers and the clean, sharp smell of ink in her nose.  One hand slid up over her belly to squeeze her breast, his thumb and finger plucking at her nipple, his other hand still rubbing between her legs, the fingers opening and closing around his cock as he pushed and thrust.  Her eyes were closed, and she lost herself in the feel of him, almost whimpering as he brought her to the brink.

Belle came with a cry of release, bucking against him, and Ives gripped her hips to keep her steady, still thrusting in and out of her.  As she slowed her movements, the breath coming hard in her lungs, he let her ankles slip from his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his back as he slipped an arm beneath her and tugged her upwards.  Belle moved bonelessly, her limbs heavy, and she murmured contentedly as he sat down on the nearest chair, her legs falling either side of him, his cock still hard inside her.  Ives kept his arm tight around her, lifting one hand to push her hair back from her face so that he could kiss her hungrily, and Belle twined her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him.

The friction caused by his hair and her juices was delightful, and she moaned and pulled her mouth away, rubbing her head against his like a cat, breathing in the heady scent of him.  Ives began to lift his hips, pushing up inside her, and Belle moved with him, rocking back and forth, feeling his cock sliding in and out, their skin wet with perspiration where their bodies pressed together.  She buried her nose in his hair, strands sticking to her damp skin, and licked up the side of his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat.  Her tongue swept over the throbbing pulse in his throat, and she felt the heavy thump of his heart, the strength of his life force.  She bit down, and Ives growled, his hand fisting in her hair, his pace quickening.

“Fuck, yes!” he gasped, and his grip tightened, his movements rapid.  Belle clung to his shoulders, pushing against him, feeling his muscles tense and harden, and he threw his head back with a long groan of completion, his cock pulsing inside her, a wave of heat coursing through her.

Ives sagged back against the chair, gasping for breath, and Belle moved with him, falling against his chest, their bodies a tangle of heavy limbs and heat and their own fluids.  She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing heart, and filling her lungs with the scent of him.  Ives shifted his arm, hugging her closer against him, and kissed the side of her neck, his other hand cradling her head.  For a moment there was silence except for the sound of their heavy breathing.  He recovered first, leaning back and stroking her hair, a lazy smile on his face.  He kissed her softly, his lips warm and damp.

“I’m not sure what I expected when I came here this evening,” he said quietly.  “But this is certainly the best outcome I could have hoped for.”

Belle giggled a little, bracing herself on his shoulders with the palms of her hands.

“Well, it was without question the most satisfying ending to a case I’ve ever had,” she said.  “I guess I’d better get this chair cleaned, hmm?”

He smirked at that, slipping out of her and standing up with her still wrapped around him.  She unhooked her legs, and he set her down gently.  Belle hunted around for her clothes, pulling on underwear, shirt and skirt.  He was buckling his belt when she remembered the champagne, still sitting in its bucket of rapidly-melting ice.

“We could celebrate in a more traditional way,” she suggested.  “If you like.”

“I rather preferred our way,” said Ives, with a grin.  “But given that I need a little time to recover before any further celebrations, I’d be delighted to join you.”

Belle returned his smile, and watched him shrug on his shirt as she lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket.

“You know, if you’re not too busy tomorrow,” she ventured.  “Perhaps we could meet again.  I - I’d rather like to get to know you better, Colonel Ives.”

He held her gaze as he fastened buttons, his eyes warm and gleaming.

“I have a dinner appointment tomorrow,” he said.  “But why don’t I come around after that?”

“Oh,” said Belle, busying herself with the foil seal covering the champagne cork.  “Well, if you have a date, we can always do the next night…”

Ives’s smile became toothy.

“Oh, it’s not a date,” he said.  “Merely a matter of business.  The unfinished variety.  I have a feeling I’ll be desiring your company very much once I’m done.”

“Well okay then.”  She grinned at him.  “I guess I’ll see you when you’ve eaten.”


End file.
